In the Dark
by alicebluegown16
Summary: After a bad day at work, Matt needs to blow off some steam. Warning! Dark themes. Violence, hate-sex, voyeurism, general not niceness.


Matt had a shitty, shitty day

In the Dark

Matt had a shitty, shitty day.

Spent most of it doing paperwork he'd stupidly allowed to pile up. Never seemed to end, finish one useless form only to reach down and find another, running his hands through his hair, chewing viciously at a hangnail until it bleeds, words spinning and swirling like a really bad acid flashback.

_Jesus fucking Christ, just stay still would ya, just stay still._

And then his boss had of _course_ stuck his head out of the office at this point, "Sometime this century, Parkman. It ain't rocket science, you know."

Back of his neck burning with embarrassment and then he hears it, a sudden perfect lull in the usual din of the station. Someone snickering to himself.

_Idiot._

Frantically looks around the room, but the moment's over, dull roar of conversation and phones ringing back to usual volume. Matt glances down and curses to himself. Fuck. He'd pressed so hard with the pen he'd torn a hole in the paper.

That's not all he'd overheard today.

Walking in on Detective Gina 'She totally has a thing for me but I'm going to keep playing it cool and wait a little bit longer before I ask her out' Russo gleefully recount the amazing night she had with the unbelievably hot guy she just met. Wasn't that just fifty different kinds of _special?_ Not that Matt was _bitter _or anything. After all, gorgeous blondes with legs for miles and amazing racks wandered into his life every damn day, didn't they? Yeah, he was beating the ladies off with a goddammed _stick,_ wasn't he?

The end of the day finds him tired, frustrated and just plain fucking pissed at the world. But he gets to go home to Molly.

_Molly, Molly, Molly_, he repeats her name over and over, a mantra to himself as he climbs the five flights of stairs up to the apartment (elevator broken again.) Molly will make it better. Molly will fix everything. One hug from her, one smile, bright red hair lighting up his ugly grey mood and he'll be fine.

Molly isn't home. Molly is sleeping at friend's house tonight because Mohinder let her without discussing it first.

He's not proud of himself for what came next.

He'd snapped.

Just fucking exploded. Yelled at Mohinder that he'd been working double shifts and hadn't seen her in almost a week and how about consulting him on shit like that? _Huh?_ Was that too fucking much to ask for? Showing some fucking common _courtesy _would be nice every once and awhile. Would have though someone as fucking smart as Mohinder would know how to operate a god damn phone.

Mohinder had just stared at him, calm and cool as glass.

"It's important for her to have as normal a life as possible."

Wrinkling up his nose as if Matt smelled bad.

"No need to be _crude_ about it, Matthew."

Like he was _so_ much better. Like Matt was just some big stupid ape he was an absolute martyr to put up with.

It has Matt seething the entire evening. Mohinder is as usual completely oblivious, absorbed in his research, eyes glued to the computer, bluish glow of the screen making him look almost alien. Doesn't speak to him all evening, like Matt's fucking invisible, like he doesn't even _matter,_ like it would just be a waste of his time and staggering intellect to even _bother _talking to him.

Mohinder doesn't even notice that Molly's not there, he's sure of it. Of course it's easy for him to pass her off to some unknown school friend, he never actually spent time with her, always skipping off to some foreign country, not even caring how Molly cried and moped without him around.

"_When's Mohinder coming home? Mohinder cooks. I miss Mohinder. Mohinder always remembers to cut the crusts off my sandwich."_

But now his shitty, shitty day has finally reached a merciful close.

Now he's in bed and he can't _sleep,_ nerves are jangling, can't even stand having the sheets touch him he's so buzzed, like there's ants crawling under his skin.

Fuck, gotta relax, gotta calm the fuck _down._

Reaches into his boxers, lazily stroking his cock, running his hand up and down the shaft.

Pictures Gina spread out underneath him on one of the tables in the interrogation room.

No, _not_ Gina. Gina's part of reality and he's trying escape reality right now.

Backtracks, closes his eyes and his fantasy girl changes.

Brunette.

A hot little brunette with big china blue eyes and a nasty-nice smile.

Licking her fingers, tracing slow lazy circles on her stomach, making goosebumps rise on her perfect pale skin.

A little smirk and a wink at him and she's stroking her clit, gasping, hips rocking forward.

Grinding up against him and moaning in his ear.

Her hand on his dick, thumb teasing, making him throw back his head and groan.

Out loud. For real.

Instantly Matt freezes.

_Fuck._

What if Mohinder hears?

As suddenly as the thought comes to him, Matt realizes he's not particularly scared of the possibility.

Dancing dangerously close to the razor's edge of mortification, but underneath that, more than that, is anger.

So fucking _what?_

Why should he fucking _care_ if Mohinder heard him?

What if he did? Gonna let that stop him? Gonna let that smug little bastard ruin even _this_ for him? He has every right goddammit. No matter how Mohinder treats him like a barely tolerated house guest, this is his home too. _He's_ the one that worries about bills and keeps things clean and running smoothly. Not that Mohinder notices. Probably thinks magic elves come and do all that crap he's too good for like fixing the radiator while he's off doing whatthefuckever in Abu Dhabi.

Not going to bend over backward for that selfish asshole.

Matt lets out a very loud and deliberate moan just for the thrill of it.

He hopes Mohinder _does_ hear. Hopes it freaks him out. Hopes he's unable to meet Matt's eyes in the morning.

_Gonna get all self-righteous about it? Like you don't do it too? _

Shit, maybe Mohinder didn't. Maybe that's why he was wound so tight.

Probably thinks the whole thing is dirty and undignified. Giving into baser instincts.

_Really, have some self control, Matthew. No need to be so crude._

Self control. That's what it was all about for Mohinder. Can't ever show weakness, can't let anyone in. If not for the way he looked at Molly, Matt might think the other guy wasn't even human.

But he'd been scared when Molly was sick. More than scared, terrified, completely helpless, same as Matt and for one brief moment it had felt as if they were possibly in this together. And then moment over, ding of the bell and back to their respective corners in the ring.

Just like old times. Just like every other conversation they ever had. Matt was wrong and always would be wrong forever and ever amen and Mohinder was right, high up on his mountain, looking down with nothing but contempt for the lesser mortals.

When he'd made that crack about his dad, it had almost been too much.

How did Mohinder manage to _do_ that? Always make him so fucking _angry,_ push all of his buttons, make him feel stupid and heavy and awkward and _completely_ out of his element, while he stood there so smug and unshakable.

God, Matt had wanted to be able to say something back. Something biting, that would live underneath Mohinder's skin for hours and days and weeks and make the other man look at him, fucking _look _at him when he was talking to him, instead of through him all the time.

Mostly, he'd just wanted to hit him.

Hands clenched by his sides, nails biting into his palms.

_Do it, go for it,_ rabbit punch to the chest, whoosh of air leaving his lungs.

Backhand him, loud satisfying crack. Smash his face in, and watch his head snap back, dark eyes impossibly wide with shock. Licking at the blood on his lips, obscene against the whiteness of his teeth.

Mohinder needed to be caught off guard, just once. Needed to be brought down a peg or three. Shaken up, lose control, knocked down, knocked on his ass, put him in his place, bring him to his _knees._

Holy fucking shit. Mohinder on his knees, the image flashes behind his eyes, hotter and more dirty wrong than anything his little brunette fuck toy could _ever_ be and Matt squeezes his dick to keep from coming immediately.

And maybe he's finally snapped, but he goes with it. Doesn't even feel the tiniest bit ashamed as he pumps his erection with a rhythm that just edges around being too rough.

Yeah, yeah, Mohinder sucking his dick, cheeks hollowed out and moaning.

Mohinder handcuffed to the bed frame. Wanton, _begging,_ fighting against the cuffs, but he doesn't actually want to be let out, not really, he's _loving_ this. Matt runs his hands over Mohinder's chest, pinching his nipples and Mohinder whines high and desperate in his throat.

"Such a slut. Look at you, legs spread, begging me to fuck you."

Mohinder's hips moving in desperate circles, needing contact, needing Matt to touch him, whimpering and gasping like he's never needed anything more in his life.

It's a good look for him.

Matt leans down to whisper in his ear.

"So beautiful. Want you so much."

No. That's not right at all. This is his fantasy. Mohinder should be begging for _him._

"Need you, need you please, Matt, please. Touch me, fuck me, please."

Yeah, that's better.

Mohinder pressing back against his fingers. Breathing so uneven it's almost a sob. Biting down on his lips, dark and swollen, kiss bruised.

On his hands and knees, Matt's nails digging into his hips, fucking him, driving into him.

Hot and harder and more, yes please more. Gonna fuck him, fuck Mohinder til he screams, til he passes out, mine, _mine_, all mine…

Squeezing, pulling at his dick, no substitute for how good it would feel to be inside Mohinder, perfect, so perfect. Matt sucks two fingers into his mouth and pushes them into himself, almost convulsing with pleasure, shaking from his eyelashes to his toes. Fuck, _yes,_ so hot, squeezes almost brutally at his cock, stars behind his eyes, blind, like he's being ripped open, ripped _apart._

Mohinder begging Matt to let him come. Begging him to kiss him. Begging him to touch him.

"_Only you Matthew, want only you, love only you, talk to me, want you, need you, I'm listening Matt, how was your day Matt, come to bed Matt, not going anywhere, promise, promise, ask me to stay, ask me to stay and I will, promise, promise, forever and ever, please, Matt."_

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

He comes with a gasp, almost choking, comes for what feels like forever, keeps his hand moving, wants to make it last as long as possible.

But it doesn't last forever. And then he's just a guy, a stupid sad pathetic guy jerking off in the dark.

He wipes a sticky hand on the sheets and shuts his eyes.

He feels hollowed out, worn down. Not peaceful, never peaceful, gave up hoping for that a long time ago. Just tired enough to be able to get up tomorrow and make it through another day.

God this is his _life._

This is what his life is now.

Tomorrow he's going to wake up and take a shower. Grab a cup of coffee, get dressed, and head to work. Sit at his desk and fill out paperwork and answer the phone. Maybe go out on a case if he's lucky. Come home, stare at the television until it's time to go to bed and then do the same thing again the day after that.

But now he gets to do all of that with this--this _stuff_ knocking around in his head and Christ where had that all _come_ from and isn't he just absolutely fucking _screwed?_

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Mohinder stays as still and quiet as possible. Scrapes at his thigh, biting his lip, tries to breathe, tries to will his erection away, must not, can not touch himself, can't listen to this, _shouldn't _be listening to this, this is an invasion of Matt's privacy, it's _wrong_, it's sick.

But oh, he can't help himself, pathetic, pathetic, _no self control_, fumbling with the fly of his pants, jerking off fast, biting the palm of his hand to keep from crying out.

Has been half hard all evening under the heavy weight of Matt's glare, desperately staring at his computer as if it contained his salvation. Idiot, he was an absolute _idiot,_ what had he thought, the two of them alone and Matt wouldn't be able to stop himself from professing his undying devotion?

Imagines bigger hands, wider, rougher, dark eyes, sole focus of attention and for _once_ it's for all the right reasons.

_Matt, oh, Matt, Matt, Matt, please._

Quiet, quiet, have to be quiet, can't let him _hear_ you, he'll hate you even more than he does now if he finds out, he'll leave, what will you do then, at least this way you get to see him every day.

You can have this moment now, here in the dark, just this once, but no more, wouldn't do to get your hopes up, want things you can't have.

It'll only make things more difficult later. Have to keep the masks up. Can't let him _know._

When he comes, he feels woozy and weak from the force of his orgasm. Thankfully falls asleep before he has a chance to feel guilty. That will likely be waiting for him in the morning.

Mohinder Suresh. This is your life.


End file.
